


A Blessing Worth The Pain

by TargaryenHeaven



Series: Our Reign Has Just Begun [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, Daddy! Jon, F/M, Fluff, Fuck D&D and HBO as well, I cried writing this, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Daenerys deserved their happy ending, Mommy! Daenerys, R Plus L Equals J, Targaryen Restoration, breasfeeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 19:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TargaryenHeaven/pseuds/TargaryenHeaven
Summary: Daenerys gives birth with Jon by her side.





	A Blessing Worth The Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this, because I made the Westerosi Maesters and Essosi midwives work together. It's unrealistic, but again, so is 90% of season 8, so just enjoy this complete and utter fluff.
> 
> Daenerys and Jon aren't married. They will be, though. They're King and Queen and they can do whatever they want. And yes, that technically makes their child a bastard. Does Jon care? No. Why? Because anything is possible in this fictional world.

Jon finds himself wondering if the pain is really worth it.  
  
The pain of losing a brother, the pain of losing a father, the pain of losing a friend, the pain of birthing a child... What is the meaning of it? Why does it exist? Is it to torture us? Or is it to remind us that we're still alive? Is pain the only thing that makes us different from _them?_

He leans his damp forehead against the wooden door, and he's shaking, he's shaking because he hears the woman he loves screaming while the babe he put inside her is draining the life out of her. They're shouting a thousand different words, but all he can hear is that damned _push_ while she's screaming _I can't do it, please, I can't do it,_ and his heart is breaking because there is nothing he can do to ease the pain.

Jon is not even sure if this is real. Is he really the King of the Seven Kingdoms? Is he really the son of Rhaegar Targaryen? Is he really in love with Daenerys Targaryen? Is he really going to be a father?  
  
_Is he really going to be a father?_

It sounds... surreal. Almost like something his mind created during a slumber. Then he hears a chilling shriek coming from the room and he's reminded that this indeed is real, he lives in a reality where Daenerys is giving birth to their child and he's so blinded by worry that he doesn't even care to wipe his own tears that are now wetting both his cheeks and his tunic.

"You're alright, my love, you're alright," he whispers to himself. He wishes he could be inside with her, but the midwives and Maesters ordered him to stay outside, telling him 'It's indecent for a king to be present.'

_But I am not like the other kings_, Jon thought. When he wanted to hold his love's hand, she pulled away to grab the stained sheets and he was pushed outside like some commoner.

And now he's being forced to listen to Daenerys' screams from the other side of the door, wait for her to bring his child into this world of the living so he could see him or her, almost like a hungry dog waits for its owner to open the door and let it inside.  
  
He's too caught up in his thoughts to realize that the screams have stopped, he grabs the handle but the door open before he can push them. The midwife's fawn-colored skin is covered in a thin layer of dark blood. She looks at him, he can see the apologetic look in her eyes that neither answers or evades the most important question he has. Jon begins to open his mouth and ask if it's finally over, but the soaked cloths in her hands finally confirm his worst sneaking suspicion.

Jon peeks through the open door, he can see the midwives forcing Daenerys' legs open while her head is resting on her own shoulder.  
  
"Anha'm ojil," the girl tells him, giving herself the right to grab the handle again with a shameless intention to close the door behind herself but Jon pushes them wide open with his remaining strength.

Before the Maesters can lecture him about the indecency he lifts Daenerys' body and holds her tight against his chest. He's not sure anymore if it's his tears or her sweat he can taste on his lips, all he can think about is how there is too much blood around her, and he's cursing the old gods and the new for being so cruel and threatening to take her away from him.  
  
"The baby is still inside her," one of the Maesters says, shaking his head as if Daenerys is already a lost cause. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. There is nothing we can do if she doesn't push."

"Jon..." he hears his name being called. She lifts her shaky hand and runs her fingers through his raven beard. Her touch is as light as a feather._ She's still smiling, despite everything, my queen is still smiling,_ Jon thinks. _I have to be strong for her._

"Dany, you're gonna be alright, do you hear me?" He tries not to cry for her, but his traitorous tears begin falling down his cheeks the moment the words leave his mouth.  
  
"I'm so sorry..." her lip quivers. "I'm so sorry..."

Jon fixes her messy silver hair, moving it from her eyes and sweaty forehead so he could place a soft kiss on her skin. "There is nothing to be sorry about, Dany," he tells her. When another wave of pain overpowers her weakened body, she has no energy to scream.  
  
He hates this feeling.  
  
He hates the pain.  
  
He hates absolutely everyone except the woman before him.

"Jin yalli ajjin elat tat athdrivar. Mae's elat tat qoy mra," one of the Dothraki midwives say.

"What did she say?" Jon shouts. "What did she say?" He shouts louder.

"Shea et tat elat," the older midwife responds as she's washing the stained cloth. "The baby is going to die and Khaleesi is gonna bleed out if she doesn't push."

When the words reach Jon's ears, everything is as white to him as Daenerys' gown used to be. Who can advise him? Who is left in this world to can tell him how to support the woman he loves? Who can teach him how to be a father?  
  
Is it his dead uncle? His dead mother? Maybe even his dead father who had two children before him?  
  
Or her dead mother? Her dead father?

Who is out there waiting for Jon to hold his newborn child in his arms? And who is out there waiting for Daenerys to hold her newborn child at her breast?

For the first time since the crown was put on his head, he wishes their mothers were there. The umber-haired northern beauty and the silver-haired southern grace, holding Daenerys and telling her how the pain is gonna be worth it, but once again he's brought back to reality when Daenerys squeezes his hand.

The northern beauty died giving birth to him.  
  
The southern grace died giving birth to her.

Just then he realizes that even though he doesn't belong in this room, it's the only place where he wants to be. He's not like the other kings before him. He is not a Maester, and he's certainly not a midwife, but he is her lover, he makes her smile when she's frowning, he's the one to pepper her face with kisses when she's being stubborn, and he knows that she knows how much he loves sleeping on her chest.

"Dany, can you hear me?" Jon gathers his strength. He's rubbing her belly over her bloodied gown, crying as he's doing so because the truth is, there isn't much he can do at this moment. "You have to push, Dany, you have to push." He sounds like he actually knows what he's talking about.

"Mae's afazh," the dark-haired Dothraki woman says, pressing her palm against Daenerys' forehead. "She's hot," she repeats in the Common Tongue.

"Dany, love, the babe is still inside, you have to push," Jon is whispering close to her mouth, keeping her awake. He doesn't know how, but he just knows that if she falls asleep, she might never open her eyes again.  
  
And that thought shakes him to the core.

"I can't, Jon, it hurts, it hurts..." she responds meekly.  
  
"Well of course you can, my love. You don't need me to remind you how strong you are, Dany. You know it. You've always known. There's a tiny babe waiting to meet you. You just have to push."

"Keep her awake, Your Grace," Maester Vyrion advises him when he crouches next to the Dothraki midwife. "That's her best chance."

"Alright, alright," Jon takes a deep breath, calming himself down. "Dany, you just listen to my voice."

"It's a really nice voice..." She tells him, rewarding him with a slight smile. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow, but she's there still, with him.

"It is, isn't it?" He laughs as he looks at the Maesters and midwives whispering among themselves. He doesn't have to hear their words to understand what they're saying. "Dany, I'm gonna tell you a secret, do you want to hear it, hm? You promise not to laugh at me?"

"Go ahead," she tells him sweetly.  
  
"Can you feel the head?" Jon hears Maester Vyrion asking the young midwife next to him. She looks at Lorri, the older woman, waiting for the translation.

"Barely," Lorri gives him the girl's answer and stands next to them while the others are washing the cloths and mixing all kinds of medicines.

"Your Grace, she needs to push. Now."

"Alright," Jon panics. "Alright. Dany, you remember how we used to talk every night in your cabin?" His attention shifts to her. "Do you remember us talking about our families? Do you remember me telling you about my childhood, and my brothers and sisters? How they were supposed to marry noble lords and ladies of Westeros and have many, many children, but I never desired that kind of life because I thought I wasn't worth it?"

"You underestimate yourself, Jon Snow," she squeezes his hand.

"That's what you told me, yes," he wipes off the trickle of sweat from her cheek. "We talked for hours and I never got to tell you why I really knocked on your door. You did something to me. I can't explain it. I felt like I found a missing peace of myself, Dany. That night when I finally closed my eyes with your head on my chest, for the first time in my life I didn't feel alone."

"Your Grace," Maester Vyrion calls for him, reminding him what needs to be done.

"I am telling you this because if you leave me, I am going to be alone for the rest of my life. I'll spend the rest of my days resenting everyone and everything for not being able to do anything to save you and our child. This isn't how you die, Dany. This baby will make your life better, not worse. Our child, Dany."

Daenerys doesn't just hear his words. She feels them, too. They're like waves crashing against her skin, awakening her senses and reminding her of the beauty that life is. Between deep breaths and screams, her right hand is tightening the grip around his left, while the other is grabbing the sheets.

She thinks she can hear people telling her that she's doing a good job, but Jon's voice is all she can hear clearly.

"I'm still convinced we're having a girl, you know," he smiles. "But there is only one way to find out, love. She's small, and weak, and she needs her mother to guide her, and her father to hold her when she comes out."

Daenerys grits her teeth, lifting her upper body to push harder, all while digging her nails into Jon's palm.  
  
"Avvos nakho, Khaleesi," Lorri encourages Daenerys.  
  
"We can see the head!" Maester Vyrion exclaims. "You're almost there, Your Grace."  
  
"Anha laz't tat jin," Daenerys whispers. "I can't..."

"One more, Your Grace, and it's gonna get easier," he informs her, before turning to Lorri. "The babe can't be inside any longer."

"Dany, one more, love, just one more. This is our child, our miracle, our heir. Come on, love, just one more and we get to hold the child we made."

And one more is all it takes for Maester Vyrion to finally smile for the fist time since the queen started bleeding. Daenerys is clenching her jaw to silence herself and get rid of the urge to scream, but the screams are coming out anyways.

Jon finally hears that sound he hasn't heard in years. A newborn child's cry. _His_ child's cry.  
  
Daenerys lets go of his hand, and he kisses her with so much love, he thinks his heart is going to explode.  
  
"Congratulations, Your Graces. It's a girl."

"A girl," Daenerys repeats the words. The pain is just a background feeling now that her heart is filled with joy and her child is gently placed on her stomach.

"Since we couldn't keep you out, Your Grace, would you like the honors?" Maester Vyrion asks Jon, offering a pair of clippers. He can barely see them through his tears, but he accepts to do the honors with pride.

"My daughter..." Daenerys looks at her child, admiring her, still afraid to touch her purple skin.

When the mother and the babe are no longer connected, Lorri wraps the newborn princess in a blanket, Jon rushes to her, eager to admire the beauty the love of his life gave him. Lorri is handing him the newest member of House Targaryen while Daenerys' handmaidens are washing the sweat and tears off her reddened face.

Jon holds his daughter close to his chest. It appears he was right. There is not much hair on her tiny head, but it's silver, he can tell. Her eyes are half closed but they're blue and big. There is no gold in them, but she definitely inherited her mother's traits.

"Oh. Dany, you're not gonna believe this," he tells her, wide-eyed.  
  
"What?" She raises her head to look at him.  
  
He sits on the bed next to her. "No scales," he grins, placing the babe on her chest, and a soft kiss on her mouth. "No wings either."

"Who let you in here?" Daenerys sneers. She looks at her daughter and it's all worth it. Jon offers her his finger, and the small princess wraps her tiny ones around it. Daenerys kisses her forehead, and her chubby cheek then her eyelids while she's crying. Daenerys knows that's how babes appreciate life.

"Are you in pain, Your Grace?" Maester Vyrion asks, observing her.  
  
"I feel like I've just given birth," Daenerys smiles.  
  
"It appears our job here is done. These ladies will now take care of the rest. Now comes the easy part, Your Grace."  
  
"Thank you so much, Maester Vyrion."

"Should we call for the wet nurse, Khaleesi?" Lorri asks politely.  
  
"No, I'll feed her myself," Daenerys responds immediately, pulling her stained gown off her shoulder until her breast is revealed to the hungry bundle of joy in her arms. Jon laughs when she starts latching immediately.

"A hungry one, eh?"  
  
"Look how soft she is, look at her," she tells him proudly. "Look at our daughter."  
  
"Daenerys, I love you. So much."

"I love you, too," she wipes his tears.  
  
"We have a daughter, Jon," she tells him again. He smiles at how proud and excited she looks.  
  
"Aye. We have a daughter, my love."  
  
"And she has my hair, look at it, Jon. Look at it!"  
  
"Yes, love, she does," he grins, kissing his daughter's tiny feet. "She's perfect."  
  
"She needs a special name. You know... I wanted to honor our mothers, they were brave women, but they both are a reminder of the painful past. This is the future queen, and she will know nothing but happiness."  
  
"Do you have a name?"  
  
"Elaenora. It just feels right."  
  
"Elaenora Targaryen," Jon tests how it would sound. "Ella for short. It's perfect."  
  
"Elaenora Targaryen, princess of Dragonstone," Daenerys says, and they both laugh when the sounds of Ella suckling on her mother's breast get louder.

* * *

It was five moons ago that Daenerys' screams were filling the very same room he's observing now. He can still remember that night. He can still remember feeling helpless and scared. There was blood on the bed where Daenerys is sleeping behind him, on her back with her full lips slightly parted.

Jon is sitting on the edge of the bed with Ella in his arms while she's staring at him with her pretty blue eyes. He remembers how small and fragile she was when he first held her, and now he smiles when she wraps her hand around his index finger with seemingly more strength.  
  
"Look at you. Look how strong you are," he coos. His voice is no longer gruff and thick. On the contrary, it's sweet and soft, it's the same voice Jon uses when Daenerys is being stubborn and he's peppering her face with kisses and telling her words of love and admiration.

Ella is tugging at the hem of his tunic, pulling it down, her eyebrows nearly touch when she begins writhing in his arms. "Oh, no, love. You're not gonna find that here," Jon tells his daughter, as if she understands his words. "Mama is tired, so let's just... _uh._"  
  
Jon turns to Daenerys. The knot holding her nightgown is off her shoulder already. Ella is crying in her father's arm, and before she can wake up the entire city with her screams, Jon is pulling Daenerys' nightgown all the way to her midriff with his free hand, until her breasts are free for their daughter to suckle.

"I really didn't think this through," Jon sighs. "Dany, love?" He calls for her.

"My tits are cold..." Daenerys whispers with her eyes still closed. "Jon, why are my tits cold?" She asks him again. When she opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is Jon smiling at her awkwardly and Ella leaning towards her chest, begging her mother to take her.

"Jon, what are you doing?" She asks him, sitting up and taking Ella in her arms.  
  
"She was hungry I realized, and I didn't want to wake you, so I, _uh_, so I tried to put her at your breast. Then I figured that perhaps I _should_ wake you after all."

Daenerys chuckles. "You are such a good father."  
  
"Yeah?" His face lights up.  
  
"Yeah," Daenerys smiles, pulling him in for a kiss.  
  
"I tried to trick her, but she realized I have no tits."  
  
They both laugh at that. Jon sits in front of Daenerys, admiring the woman he loves deeply, and the daughter they created together.

"Dany?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"I love you," Jon blurts out.  
  
"Now tell me that and look me in the eyes," she laughs at him.  
  
"I love you," he repeats, this time looking her in the eyes and not her tits. "And I love your tits."

"I bet you do. You're staring at them like some kind of hungry pup."

"_That's_ a hungry pup," Jon tickles Ella's feet. "I'm just so amazed by you. You're so... beautiful. And strong. And you're an amazing mother. And an amazing lover. And my future wife."

Jon leans closer to Ella and kisses her cheek. Daenerys expects him to kiss her next, but his focus shifts to her free breast, and her dusky nipple. He remembers clearly what he told her months ago in the great hall, and he keeps his promise when he places an open mouthed kiss above the hardened peak.  
  
"Jon?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"She's sleeping," Daenerys whispers, grinning.  
  
"Oh. I better put her in the cradle, then," he responds coyly.  
  
And now that he's holding his sleeping daughter against his chest while the love of his life is waiting for him in their bed, Jon thinks he finally has the answer to his own question.  
  
Some people are worth all the pain.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm definitely writing some dirty smut after this. And I am DEFINITELY turning Hotel California into a dirty fic. Just putting this out there. ;)
> 
> Dothraki:  
Anha'm ojil - I'm sorry  
Jin yalli ajjin elat tat athdrivar. Mae's elat tat qoy mra. - The child is going to die. She's gonna bleed out.  
Shea et tat elat - She has to push  
Avvos nakho - Don't stop


End file.
